The rains, they have passed over
It’s now time to get out and about
To leave the safety of my perch
In the branches of the trees near the roundabout
I fly out to the island
Where the cars flow around us in streams
Once there, I get into my stance
to begin my daily routine
For I am Rodrigo
the flamenco dancing gull
Who moves with such intention,
such grace and such passion
With each golpe from my legs
that strikes the soil below
My tacon and my punta
I feel the rhythm and I just let go
each stamp building to a
worm-enducing, meal-producing,
frenzied crescendo
Which is the reason I have learnt
to be so skilled with my two feet
Without my gypsy passions
I’d be hungry with no food to eat
And so I schooled myself
and learned to move to a new beat
So I will always have a belly
Full of flamenco enticed meat.
Poetry for Dullards 